


Baby, You're Bad (News)

by hiimraen



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Baby Boyd, Baby Erica, Baby Isaac, Babysitting, Eventual Sterek, Gen, Helpless Scott, Human Scott, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-08-20
Packaged: 2017-12-22 14:34:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiimraen/pseuds/hiimraen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Stiles could cash in, say, 50 bucks for every single time that Scott ever misappropriate the Batman Code, he could've been driving a much better car - just saying, you know.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Not that Stiles would want to cash it...just - just <i>saying,</i>, okay? Okay fine, Scott, I'll <i>help</i>, goddamn it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Friday Night

**Author's Note:**

> So...Teen Wolf, huh? 
> 
> I dunno where this whole thing came from, but one thing for sure - there's lots more coming *winkwinkbarf*. This whole thing is currently still free of any Sterek interactions (for reasons unknown, not even by me) and I am currently foreseeing another good 2 series of work before we even see Stiles and Derek shoving things in places people don't want things to be shoved at in a public setting *cough*they're fucking*cough*. 
> 
> Um, for some other unknown reasons, this whole thing - despite my lovely beta's help and/or my own psyching up thingy majingy - is still...weird? I dunno, I'm writing chapter 3 as we speak and it's a little bit weird reading back...but you know, whatever right? Pfffttt but seriously though if you ever felt weird out by tiny Isaac or somehow my little Erica is a bit weird or something, just comment on it and I'll cry for a thousand years before I do something, okay?
> 
> As always, the work you're about to read was beta'd by the ever so lovely, [Ms. Hale](lydiahastings.tumblr.com). I don't even know why she's still with me, I reckon that people got bored after like, the first time or something - but apparently she's too good to do it or something - so go to her blog and follow her. She's cool.
> 
> Again, a **HUGE REMINDER:** This is a WIP with a WIP Sterek that is not to be seen UNTIL MUCH, MUCH LATER ON. So, you know. Yeah.

 

 

 

Stiles hated Scott. He really did.

 

“I hate you,” Stiles said, trying to pull his eyebrows as low as he could while setting his lips in a hard line – basically, he’s trying to pull Dad’s resigned/you’re-in-trouble-young-man face, sans Years of Parenting™. Scott, that freaking ass, just beamed at Stiles, pushing the door open wider as he pulled Stiles’ unwilling body into a one-man hug. “Meh,” he said, his voice a clear proof that he was not - in any way – impressed by Stiles’ declaration of ~~love~~ hate. “You love me, dude. I’m your bro – not even a zombie apocalypse can get you away from me.”

 

Stiles huffed and pushed Scott off his person, rolling his eyes when he noticed that the other man was still beaming. _Like a puppy_ , Stiles thought. “Great, jinx everybody, why don’t you? See, now we’ll have to stick together and when you get your asthmatic ass bitten I have to choose between killing you or letting you bite me, and then where will we end up?” Scott ignored Stiles and dragged him inside the house by his arm. The house was huge; the design on the outside seemed old but the inside was positively modern - probably reconstructed with a custom design or something.

 

They walked past a living room with a huge ass, flat screen TV flashing some sweet definition from that movie Epic. Stiles only got a few seconds to gawk at the TV – who even owns a TV that huge? Stiles was sure it was one of those touch-screen TVs as well – when Scott tugged his hand to the right and they soon reached a kitchen area.

 

And by kitchen area, Stiles meant _super-awesome, freaking cool, hi-tech_ kitchen _heaven!_

 

Pristine clean, too.

 

“ _Whoa_ ,” Stiles gasped as he moved forward, taking in the whole kitchen place. There’s a huge island in the middle of the kitchen, pot hanger filled to the brim with pans, pots, and other kitchen utensils of various sizes. Stiles walked over to the island, knocking some of the pots – the loud clank echoing throughout the silent kitchen. Once he was over the other side, Stiles noticed the electric stove-top – built in a hexagon, something like a beeswax design – the long, slinky faucet over at the sink and the very fancy, very modern dishwasher just underneath. “Whoa.”

 

Scott chuckled somewhere behind him, along with the soft sound of the opening of the fridge’s door. “I knew you’d love the kitchen,” Scott said, and when Stiles turned around, Scott emerged from behind the door with a bottle of soda in his hand. Stiles’ favorite brand also, damn. Scott closed the door – nudged it with his hip, more like; the door closed itself all the way though – and moved towards Stiles, handing the soda over. “I mean, I’m not huge on cooking or anything, but I know for sure my best-bro-in-the-world loves to cook, so you know…”

 

Stiles twisted open the soda, half enjoying the sound of the carbonate sizzling as he eyed Scott who was clearly up to something – the averted eyes, the kitchen-first tour, the soda approach. Not to mention he used the Batman Code (‘Joker on the loose.’ Might seem a bit childish, but hey, totally works every single time). The third time Scott refused to look at Stiles was the last time – Stiles placed his bottle on the counter and crossed his arms. “Okay, spill. What’s up?”

 

Scott, that loon, shrugged as if he didn’t get what Stiles was talking about. He even did the lost-puppy look – which totally doesn’t work on the account that _Stiles_ helped _Scott_ perfect that look. “Oh, no – no lost-puppy, Scott. I know something is up, so just man up–”

 

“I am a man!”

 

“–and tell me what is going on! And I don’t care that you’re a man – I’m a man. You don’t see me abusing my best-bro knowledge to get something, do you?” Scott was clearly up to something, as he glanced down at his socked feet as if the answer to the whole universe were on the tiny ducklings knitted on his socks. Wait a minute – “Oh come on, don’t tell me it’s an Allison related problem?!”

 

“What? Who told you th–”

 

“Oh, my God – are you for real Scott? You used the Batman code!”

 

“I can’t help it, I have to go to a dinner at the Argents' tonight and–”

 

“A dinner? And you want me to look after these monsters so you can go to a din–”

 

“Stiles, they’re below 12! And they’re _cute, little monsters_ , not like man-eating werewol–”

 

“I don’t care!” Stiles exclaimed, at the same time that he first noticed the blonde head that was barely hidden behind the end of the island. Scott followed Stiles’ eyes and saw it too, but unlike Stiles’ frozen stance, he moved towards the end of the island and crouched low on the floor, his ass almost kissing the ground. “Hey, kiddo!”

 

Kiddo turned out to be a skinny boy with a mess of curly, washed-out blonde hair. The eyes that were staring at Stiles were pale blue and wide – a questioning look if Stiles knew any. Stiles heaved a sigh before he moved to sit on the floor right next to Scott, those pale blue eyes tracing his movement. When nobody started to talk – Scott was busy beaming at Stiles while the kid was busy staring at him – Stiles extended his hand, forcing a wide smile on his face.   

 

“Hey, I’m Stiles.”

 

The kid moved his eyes from Stiles’ hand to his face, before slowly grasping the proffered hand and shaking it slightly. Stiles was unsure how, but Scott was beaming even more and somehow Stiles’ smile felt a lot more real than forced. They shook hands for a little while until the boy said something and Stiles had to lean forward a little bit to hear better. “What?” Stiles asked.

 

“I – Isaac,” the boy said, his voice impossibly small and tiny. Beside him, Scott already got to his feet, moving around them to get to the fridge and tinkering about. Stiles ignored his friend as he scooted closer to Isaac, which the kid responded by plastering himself to the island side. _Smooth, Stilinski_. Scott appeared then with a Capri Sun, punched and ready to drink for Isaac. Stiles looked at the front and smiled as he saw the flavor.

 

“You like strawberries?”

 

The kid’s answer was earnest and very energetic, nodding his head without losing the straw from his mouth. Stiles smiled some more when the kid ran out of the kitchen, the pitter-patter of his feet muffled by the cute striped, blue socks that he was wearing. Stiles sighed and turned around, facing Scott. Who was, as expected, probably killing all his facial muscles trying not to just jump around and do the Macarena or something. “ _Fine_ ,” Stiles said, resigned and defeated, “fine, I’ll backup your butt. Go have fun or some–”

 

Stiles didn’t have the opportunity to finish his sentence before Scott all but jumped on him, laughing and kissing his face and saying thank you again and again – Stiles knows that he should just let Scott take his time. Soon ( _too_ soon), Scott pushed Stiles towards the door beside the fridge – huh, didn’t notice that one before – where there were a pin board filled with papers and bills and shit. Scott unpinned one of the papers and thrust it to Stiles. “Here are the names and everything. There’s also emergency numbers and pizza numbers and stuff on the board – look around. Mr. Hale won’t mind – well, not that much anyway. I’ll be back tomorrow morning, I promise.” Stiles lifted one finger and before he even had enough breath to talk, Scott cut in. “And yes, you’re the bestest best-bro any guy could ever dream of having, gay or straight.”

 

Stiles smiled - _I’ve taught him well_ \- before Scott gave him one more hug and moved towards the back door, where – huh – his stupid green jacket hanged beside a black, leather jacket. He planned all of this, that motherfucker. Stiles just shook his head, a small smile on his face as he watched Scott fumbled with his jacket. There was a quick, ‘Catch!’ before a set of keys came flying to him. Thank God for little mercies, Stiles managed to catch the keys before something bad happened, and then Scott was away with a shouted out ‘Best-bro ever!' the soft-click of the door accompanying him.

 

Stiles looked down at the two items in his hands – the name list and the keys – and thought about what his life had become. Well, he tried to think about it, but then there was a blur of blonde hair and he was tackled to the ground with a loud _oof!_

 

Seriously, what is his life?

 

Stiles stared at the ceiling – neat plaster work – as the weight on his lap moved higher and higher, dragging his shirt along with it, exposing his stomach to the rather chilled air of the night. Soon, the ceiling was replaced with a little girl with messy blonde hair (too? Is she Isaac’s twin or something?) with warm, rich brown eyes. A warm, sticky hand patted his cheek slightly, and when Stiles grunted at the gesture, the kid smiled at him. “Are you St’les?”

 

Stiles grunted some more, wiggling around and causing the little girl to sway around as she giggled at the movement, eyeing the paper in his hand for a name. There’s only one possible girly name on the list – Erica, 6 – and when the girl, Erica, tried to snatch the paper, Stiles extended his hand way above his head, eliciting another burst of giggles from the little girl. The giggling didn’t stop, especially not when Stiles folded his body upward with one hand behind her back. Once they were clear from the danger of falling or toppling over, Stiles lowered his head a little in a bow with a hand crossed to his heart – much to Erica’s approval. “Your Highness, Princess Erica.”

 

 “You can just call me Erica.” Stiles smiled at the amused voice.

 

“Of course, princess.” The little girl beamed at the moniker, patting Stiles’ cheek again before getting up and holding a hand out for Stiles – as if Stiles had personally passed a test of some sort. Stiles saw a movement from the corner of his eye and turned to see a dark-skinned boy – his hair so short it almost wasn't there – and Isaac half hiding behind him, his juice pack still in his hand. From the list Stiles knew that the kid was Vernon Boyd, age 10 – the oldest of the crew, Isaac’s only 5 – but Stiles was a bit taken aback. “Are you adopted?” Stiles asked out of nowhere, the question oh-so-obviously directed at Boyd.

 

It was Erica who replied first, laughing this huge belly laugh that caused her to fall onto her butt before rolling on the floor - practically laughing her ass off. Boyd had this confused look on his face; probably nobody really asked him that question. People probably never even questioned _anything_ , fuck Stiles – are you stupid or something? Isaac seemed to be thinking the same thing as he pushed himself away from Boyd’s back and ran to Stiles, taking up Erica’s evacuated seat. “You’re silly,” Isaac said, his eyes crinkling with laughter.

 

That caused Erica to laugh some more, rolling from side to side, her hands holding her stomach. Stiles looked back at Boyd, and miraculously, found that the boy was smiling too; his full lips stretched over his pearly whites.

 

It took them awhile, but soon enough Erica was done laughing and Boyd had joined the three of them on the floor, sitting cross-legged as the three of them asked him questions after questions: Where’s Scott? (Dinner with Allison); are you Scott’s brother? (Yes, but from different mom and different dad); do you know Allison, she’s pretty isn’t she? (Of course, she’s an Amazon princess. Yes, you can be the city princess); Are you going to sit for us until Monday? (I hope not. _Yes_ , I mean, sure!)

 

(Stiles really does hope _not_.)

 

They continued to sit there for a few minutes, interrogation soon turned into an exchange of school stories, stories about boys and girls and kittens and puppies, and about hobbies. It took him a while before the thought even came to him, but when it does Stiles didn’t wait a second to ask. “So, where’s your mom and dad?”

 

It was Isaac that answered it, curled up on Stiles’ lap with his legs drawn up to his chest, his hands hugging them even closer. “Papa’s working.”

 

“Um – you guys, uh, have any mom?”

 

Boyd shook his head, playing with the hem of his pajama pants. “Nah,” he said. “Papa never bothered with dating. He tried it once, but the lady didn’t like Isaac because he was small at that time and he loves crying.” That got Erica to snort – prettily – and an indignant ‘hey!’ from Isaac. Stiles himself huffed a bit, but still – who wouldn’t love a kid like Isaac? He’s like a real life cherub or something, kid’s damn cute. Dad would love the hell out of this kid.

 

Stiles patted Isaac’s messy curls, bending down a little bit to kiss the top of his head. “Don’t worry, Isaac – I bet you’re cute when you’re crying; snot and all.” Isaac huffed from where he was curled up, but Stiles didn’t miss the small smile – it was like Isaac’s whole being lit up or something, there’s no way he’d miss anything like that.

 

They were silent for no more than a few second before Erica poked him on his side, telling him that they had actually wanted to ask for some more popcorn because the one that Scott made for them earlier had finished. Stiles set Isaac aside and got up to his feet – and all the children did the same – and with Boyd’s guidance, he found the bag of popcorn and threw it in the microwave, herding the kids back to the living room, where the movie was on pause.

 

Scott is so freaking lucky that the kids are cute.

 

Not to mention that the TV also had voice command, what the heck?! (Stiles totally stared at the screen after Boyd told the screen to ‘play’. Like, downright stare – mouth opened, eyes wide, stare – because holy shit, these people are filthy rich!)

 

 

*

 

 

They finished the movie around half past 10, and after a huge debate over what the ‘official’ bed time was (there’s a note on the pin board that said ‘ _Bedtime – 9PM (weekdays) 10PM (weekends)_ ’ right underneath the emergency contact list), Stiles sent the kids upstairs to get ready for bed. He managed to shuffle them upstairs with Isaac in his hands, and Boyd leading them all into their room. It was the master bedroom, Stiles realized – there was a huge Californian king size bed in the middle of the room, complete with hordes of stuffed toys and a book shelf a few feet above the head of the bed. There were three different dressers, in three different colors, an en suite bathroom and a reassigned walk-in closet that is now a sort-of playroom.

 

Stiles swirled on the balls of his feet, taking in the whole room – there’s a freaking glow-in-the-dark Milky Way on their ceiling and in one corner of the room, there were hand-painted arts (murals, more like) that were clearly the works of the kids. “Whoa.” Stiles approached the wall at a sedate pace, taking in the few child-like drawing and one really detailed drawing of a forest at the lower left-hand corner of the wall. “This is so cool,” he said.

 

He heard a chuckle from his right and turned to face Boyd, who was also staring at the wall. “I drew most of these,” he said, pride clearly written on his face. He then pointed at the forest and said, “That is Papa’s drawing – it’s boring and awesome at the same time, I don’t even understand how.”

 

Stiles smiled as he went up to the kid and one-arm hugged Boyd. It’s weird how comfortable these kids are with new faces – especially Isaac and Erica, since they were younger compared to Boyd – and that made Stiles wonder about their past; if they were adopted as babies (clearly they were all adopted, right?), or if their Papa is always working and a long line of baby-sitter were there instead of this mysterious father figure; if that made the kids so much easier to behave around strangers.

 

Stiles let those questions down when he heard the sound of the bed’s springs straining and as he turned around he had a moment of a minor panic when he saw Erica tackling Isaac off the bed. Stiles jumped, trying to reach of the boy, but he was falling faster and – oh, so that’s where all the pillows had gone; on the floor. Isaac laughed in a cute little way, straining his neck to look at Stiles’ relieved face as the two of them laughed at each other, Erica already jumping up on the bed once again.

 

Stiles picked Isaac up by his feet, his half-shout half-laugh loud in the soft room, and directed all of them to the bathroom – much to everyone’s protest, even Boyd. The bathroom was – just like every other room in the house – huge, expensive and apparently, kid-proofed. By the sink (a good 3 feet long marble sink shaped like a long boat) on the floor (green tiles, which if Stiles have to ever guess, is probably jade – of course, then that’ll up the ‘filthy rich parent’ status to ‘Son of the Devil rich’) was a three-leveled stool – something like a podium, only it’s made out of plastic, durable, and chilren-friendly.

 

Erica hopped up the second highest level, already reaching for a bright orange toothbrush and handing Boyd her toothpaste. When Isaac pushed himself out of Stiles’ grasp, Stiles got the idea that these kids were well into their routine and – despite their earlier groaning – were probably more used to this than Stiles was. When Stiles was satisfied that Isaac could actually handle his toothbrush and was not just sticking the plastic inside his mouth like what any other child his age would normally do, Stiles slowly crept out of the bathroom and went to the huge bed.

 

He hadn't forgotten about the disastrous floor and went to pick up the myriad of pillows off the floor, throwing them back on the bed again. Once he was done, he fished out his phone, and saw 2 unread texts: one from Scott and the latest one from his Dad.

 

**From: Scotty Boy**

Hey dude thx for helping me out. I’ll be back in the morning, so don’t kill urself or anything, it’ll be hard to clean ur blood or something. Also watch out for Erica she loves to dive on people – I think she thinks it’s a way of greeting ppl or something. Have fun!

 

Gee, thanks Scott – that was really helpful now that he already had been tackled by Erica. Ugh, at least Scott will be back the next morning, and as much as he adored these lovely kids, he was so not the one hired to babysit them throughout the weekends.

 

**From: Dad**

 Where are you? Coming home 2nite? 

 

Stiles tapped Dad’s name and hit the call button. He tried to peek inside the bathroom but the door was almost shut, so he couldn’t really see anything – but the shrill of laughter (Erica) told him that everything was (probably) okay. The ringer only sounded twice before his father’s voice greeted him with a soft, “Stiles.”

 

“Hey, Dad. Yeah, I’m not coming back.”

 

There’s a soft sigh and the sound of clothes rustling. “Scott?”

 

“I wish. Apparently I’m his number one backup and now I have to–”

 

“Stiles!” Isaac’s voice was loud and whiny and Stiles wasted barely a beat as he ran to the bathroom, pushing the door open loudly and saw – oh, thank God. It’s only Isaac with hair mixed with some toothpaste. Stiles paid half a mind as he passed Boyd his phone for him to hold, and carried Isaac to the huge bathtub. Behind him, Erica was snickering like the evil person that she’d probably grow up to be like and there was no sign of Boyd. Stiles asked Isaac to practically fold his body in half as he detached the shower head and tested the water. Preset to warm, that’s cool.

 

It didn’t take him that much time, and soon he had a happy Isaac with a wet head wrapped in a small, blue towel. Erica was trying to act helpful by patting Isaac’s head despite the constant ‘no’ and ‘don’t’ from Isaac, and Stiles led them both out of the bathroom, killing off the light as they got out. It was then that he remembered his phone and Boyd and Dad, oh my God – and saw Boyd sitting on the bed, a huge smile on his face as he pressed Stiles’ phone to his ear, definitely talking to Dad.

 

Well, at least this is the best way of saying, ‘See, I’m not lying!’ Right?

 

Stiles walked fast to the bed and swept the phone off Boyd’s hand – “Hey! I was talking to the Sheriff!” – and ignoring Erica’s chanting of ‘my turn, my turn!’. “Hey, Dad, sorry ‘bout that: trouble at paradise.”

 

His Dad just snorted. “So you’re now a backup baby-sitter, huh?”

 

“Eh, guess so. Just for Scott though, and just for tonight – he was cordially invited to a dinner at the Argents. You know Scott and Allison – bro would never say no to anything she asked for.”

 

“Well, lucky she didn’t ask him to marry her, then.” Stiles squawked at that, making unintelligible sounds at the phone because wow – that was way too much. He said so to his dad, and that old man just laughed at his words. “It’s not like it’s a problem. I mean, your mom did that to me – she said ‘marry me’ and I did.”

 

That got Stiles to smile because…well - Dad talking about Mom was rare, so whenever those moments come, Stiles tried not to over think about stuff and just enjoy it as it is. Still, “This is not the 80’s or 70’s, you know? It’s 2013, Dad. Besides, this young Scott and Allison would probably be in ‘18 and married’ or something.”

 

“Come on, that’s not even a show.”

 

“Hah, that’s what you said about ‘16 and Pregnant’.” Dad had been way too traumatized when he watched one episode of that show; he didn’t even make it to the end of the episode, he simply up and left the living room with a look of horror and relief on his face.

 

“Heh, whatever you say, kid. Anyway, I won’t be home tomorrow until evening, I’m covering for Jankens – she’s visiting her mother-in-law.”

 

“She’s still alive?” God, that lady must be ancient; she’s like the most resilient human being Stiles have ever know.

 

“Stiles, language,” his father chastised. “Anyway, make sure you're home for dinner tomorrow night - it's your turn to cook." Stiles groaned at that, because it was always his turn to cook, unless if it's barbeque or grill. "Anway," the Sheriff said, ignoring Stiles' reaction, "Sunday breakfast as usual?"

 

“Duh, of course – like hell I’ll miss Mr. Brown’s waffles! Oh, I want those with ice creams…” Stiles can already taste the awesomeness of that well made breakfast meal – can’t wait. Stiles heard his dad chuckling before he felt a tug on his side. He looked down and saw Isaac’s face, his eyes wide and hair still damp. Stiles crouched low to get to Isaac’s level and when he was there Isaac boldly reached for his phone. “Hi, Sheriff – I’m Isaac. Can I get waffle with ice cream too on Sunday?”

 

Stiles couldn’t help the small burst of laughter inside when he heard the question – quickly followed by Boyd and Erica fighting over the phone, wanting to both hear the answer and joining in for the Stilinski’s weekend breakfast ritual. When Erica grabbed the phone off Isaac’s hand rather forcefully, Stiles plucked the phone out of her hand easily and told the little guys to say their good-byes.

 

“There are _three_ of them?” The Sheriff asked once Stiles placed the phone back to his ear.

 

“Yeah. You talked to Boyd earlier, just now was Isaac and the girl is Erica.”

 

“Well, that’s a handful if I ever knew one. Okay, then, son – go back to being a backup babysitter and I’ll see you for dinner tomorrow. Oh, and tell Isaac, I wouldn’t mind him joining.”

 

“Dad, is that an invitation?”

 

“Nah, you figure it out yourself, kiddo. Gud’nite.” And just like that, the call was disconnected. Stiles stared at his screen for a while, before locking the screen and pocketing his phone. He helped Isaac up on the bed – although the small boy probably didn’t need any help, but nobody protested, so whatever – and he plopped down on the bed, sprawled across the bed on his back, suddenly feeling ten times more exhausted than before.

 

It was then that Isaac’s face disturbed his view of the pasted-on Milky Way. “Did the Sheriff said yes?” he asked, fresh strawberry-scented breath warming Stiles’ face. Stiles smiled at the kid, ruffling his damp hair a little bit before pushing his head back to the head of the bed. “He said he wouldn’t mind if you came,” Stiles replied, followed close by a whooping from Erica and a cry for ice cream from Isaac.

 

It was Boyd who pushed the huge storybook that came out of nowhere towards Stiles. Stiles turned his body sideways and eyed the book – Sleepy Times, Little Wolves: Bedtime Stories, About Wolves! – before looking questioningly at Boyd. The kid did nothing but shrug at Stiles, probably saying ‘you read those, dummy’ in a really convincing poker face that somehow the 10 years old could manage. (It was still better than Scott’s poker face, which looks closely similar to his toilet face, which _ew_.)

 

Stiles’ hand – the one that wasn’t supporting his head – barely grazed the glossy book cover when Erica told him a page number. “Page 67,” was all she said. When Stiles raised his eyebrow at the girl, Boyd piped in. “Isaac’s favorite story.” Stiles looked at the kid in question, and when he got the nod of approval, he sighed and pulled himself up to sit cross-legged on the bed with the book propped up on his left knee.

 

Page 66 was a page filled with a picture of a boy with a stick – his face filled with fear and horror – and a _huge_ little wolf, snout open in a soundless yip, hovering over the air as if trying to pounce of the kid. Page 67 held the title – Bad Wolf, Bad Bad Wolf! – and Stiles couldn't help smiling as he pushed himself up and scooted up until his back was on the headboard, Erica’s on his left and Isaac on his right, Boyd getting up and bunkering on Stiles’ extended feet.

 

“Okay, so – once upon a time–”

 

 

 


	2. Saturday Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So: there's a wolf monster, some breakfast making, some hazards caused by the breakfast made and Stiles receiving bad news. 
> 
>  
> 
> You can most definitely blame the bad news on Scott. Or, you know, on the Argents - whichever you fancy.
> 
>  
> 
> P/s: Stiles blames both of them.

 

 

 

The first thing that Stiles saw was a flash of blinding light. He grunted as he tried to reorient his position. His ears were ringing and his head was still spinning from the previous fall - or he assumed he fell, because he pretty sure you don't just woke up and suddenly be in a pit hole or something, right? Stiles tried to move his body, probably crawl away from whatever hole he’d fallen into, but none of his limbs were co-operating. With great effort, Stiles managed to move his left shoulder up a little bit to a more comfortable position and – okay, that was it. No more moving. Okay, this officially sucks.

 

There was a loud groaning, and soon a familiar face greeted Stiles. _Scott?_ Okay, that _is_ Scott, and why the hell is he wearing battle gear–

 

“ _M’lord!_ ”

 

What?

 

“M’lord, do not move, my king.” Okay this is weird, what’s happe – oh, right. They were fighting off the threat of the three-headed, _really_ bad wolf. Oh man, this is awesome – um, I mean – “Scott, I can’t move my legs?”

 

“The venom, my liege” Scott answered, his face solemn and concerned. Stiles had a second to think about what that statement entailed – paralysis on a very good day, but given his luck, permanent loss of control and sensation, _great_ – when a huge roar erupted, shaking the ground and Stiles right down to his core. Stiles barely had a second to allow the fear to set in before Scott was dragging him up, up the slanted land and out of the hole they were in. Stiles almost forgot about his unmoving legs, especially when the three-headed monstrous wolf finally emerged from behind the tree lines.

 

“ _Scott_ ,” Stiles cried, his eyes not leaving the wolf. Scott kept on dragging him, but it was futile – the monster was so huge and its speed defied its gigantic build. There was another roar, this time louder than the previous one and Stiles was sure he’d die young, eaten alive by the monstrous three-headed dog – _oh God_ –

 

“Boyd, Erica, Isaac – wake up!”

 

Huh? Who said that?

 

There was another roar, this time accompanied directly by that same smooth and gravelly voice. “Boyd, Erica, Isaac – come on baby, wake up.”

 

Everything slowed down to a stop...

 

“–baby, wake up.”

 

“Wha-”

 

“ _Wake up_.”

 

Stiles opened his eyes, a ray of soft morning light passing through the blind, causing him to squint as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the glaring sunlight. Stiles tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes – and had a moment of imminent fear that he was not dreaming earlier, he _can’t_ move his hands – only to realize that Erica was hugging the crap out of his left hand, her limbs all tangled up and holding dearly to Stiles’ arm. Isaac had a looser grip on Stiles’ right hand but the little boy was using his shoulder as a pillow, so there’s that. Boyd was most definitely the worst; the kid was sprawling on top of Stiles’ legs, limbs akimbo with his head thrown back next to Stiles’ hip, his mouth opened in a silent snore.

 

That was the moment that Stiles heard the rather violent vibration coming from the bedside table. He saw a phone (that was most definitely not his) vibrating and lighting up at odd intervals followed by a loud roar. _The roar from his dream_ – Stiles chuckled to himself as he fishes his hand out of Isaac’s slack hold and grabbed the phone. There was a message, ‘ _Wake up! Morning time!’_ and a picture of Erica perched on top of a wolf’s head with Isaac and Boyd on each side. Stiles was freaking jealous of just the whole picture situation because (1) it’s a freaking wolf, (2) the wolf was freaking _majestic_ , all huge and black and regal looking, and (3) Beacon Hills’ vast preserve area didn’t even house a single wolf, so you know…jealous and stuff.  

 

“Boyd, Erica, Isaac – wake up, it’s morning,” the phone said, a very smooth, very sexy voice, making Stiles wonder who was calling for these kids because surely not anybody would record such message… _fuck_. It’s their Papa, isn’t it?

 

Stiles knows what they say about people with attractive voices…

 

Chastised by the thought, Stiles hit the snooze button and set the phone on the pillow beside his head. With enough effort, he managed to move both Erica and Isaac with the barest amount of movement – he’d had his fair share of babysitting and if he’d learnt anything, it’s that the grumpiest people to ever live would have to be a child whose beauty sleep was disturbed. Boyd was tough, though – at first Stiles tried to pull his legs from underneath Boyd, and when that failed (kid’s heavier than he looked, damn) Stiles took on the offensive side and physically pulled Boyd’s body off his trapped legs. Thank god for little mercies as Boyd apparently slept like a log – or maybe he just had a really good internal clock, who knows with these kids.

 

Stiles tried very slowly to move off the bed, trying his best not to jostle the still sleeping children as much as his movement would’ve probably caused. Stiles made his way into the bathroom, waking his senses up with a wash of cold water on his face. It was then that Stiles realized he hadn’t brushed his teeth last night and god, he _hates_ morning breath with a passion – shut up, he’s hygienic like that – so he moved out of the room, sparing a glance at the three sleeping forms before softly pulling the door to a slight ajar.

 

Stiles looked around and saw four other doors apart from the master bedroom, or you know, the kiddies bedroom - there was one door right next to it, two more in front of them and one at the end of the narrow hallway. Stiles already had an idea of what he needed – a toothbrush, if he’s lucky a fresh towel so he could take a really quick morning shower – and with that in mind, Stiles was set in search for his morning necessities. Probably after, when the kids were up and ready, he’d prepare breakfast for them.

 

Stiles tried the door right next to the bedroom and quickly found out that the room was locked (probably their Papa's bedroom). Stiles sighed and hoped that the rest of the doors weren’t locked too, that’ll be bad – for him and everybody within his vicinity, because damn; morning breath, man. Stiles shuffled a few feet towards the door directly in front of him, and when he twisted the door open, he was greeted with the sight of a very meticulous and pristine room. The bed was made, the curtains were drawn, and not a single personal item was in sight – a guest room, then.

 

Stiles quickly shuffled out of the room, and went to the one next to it. When he opened the door, Stiles’ inner 8 years old was severely impressed – it was a personal gym room. Fuck that, it was a personalized gym _center_ ; there was equipment everywhere – Stiles could see the dumbbells, barbells, kettlebells; with the weights all organized at one corner of the room. There were also a few machines, a few other bars mounted on the walls and some kind of pulley attached to the ceiling – fuck, this man must be ripped as hell.

 

Stiles couldn’t really imagine how the man would look like – ripped body, voice saccharin sweet **–** and he had a moment of self-deprecation before he pushed the thoughts and his person away from the room. Stiles wasted no more time, making his way quickly to the last room on that floor. Luckily the door was also not locked, but as he stepped inside Stiles finally realized where he was –Papa’s room, definitely for sure this time. There's an unmade bed in the middle of the room, an abandoned duffel bag on the floor with what looked like a pair of dark blue sweatpants half poking out of the unzipped bag, and even more items of clothing strewn about the room.

 

Stiles stepped further inside and spotted a dresser to his right, a cluster of pictures of the kids at various occasions decorating the top – there was a picture of a very small Erica being cuddled by a relatively smaller Boyd; a picture of a laughing Isaac perched on somebody’s shoulders, his chubby little hands spread wide open; a family picture of three males and four females, all standing regal and looking hella attractive; and another but with the additions of the little kids, all perched in someone’s hand, even little Boyd.

 

Well, litt _ler_.

 

Stiles was about to reach for the family photo – damn, they’re a huge family – when someone wrapped his leg in a hug and Stiles yelped (in a totally manly way) and jumped back, only to land on top of the duffel bag on his butt because – “Erica!”

 

The girl didn’t even let go of his captured leg as she stared up at him. “What’re you doing?” she asked, her voice still raspy from a long nights sleep.

 

“Well, good morning to you, too. I’m trying to find a spare toothbrush – my mouth stinks.”

 

When Stiles nudged her, Erica let go of Stiles’ leg, standing up and rubbing her eyes sleepily. She smiled at Stiles when he tapped her chin, before she nodded towards a door at the side of the room, behind Stiles. “That’s the toilet. I think Papa keep ‘em under the sink,” she explained, before ripped out a huge yawn, the fist that she used to cover her mouth barely covering her mouth. Stiles couldn’t resist the urge to squeezed Erica’s cheeks with both his palms when she was done yawning, the little pink lips pursed like a fish mouth. Erica whined to be let go, and Stiles did as soon as he made kissy noises at Erica, much to her disgust. “Ew,” she said, wiping her mouth as if there was contact.

 

Stiles chuckled at the act, pushing her out of the room. “Go back to bed with your brothers – when you guys are ready just come down and I’ll get breakfast ready, kay?”

 

That surely got Erica’s attention, as she bobbed her head enthusiastically and practically fled out of the room with a rushed, “m’kay!” – probably to pester her brothers awake because _breakfast_. Stiles heaved himself up and moved to the bathroom, tugging his shirt down from when it rode a little bit up his stomach. The first thing he saw when he pushed open the door was probably the very material for an extremely hot, extremely sexy shower sex, because – “ _Oh. My. God_.”

 

It was probably the best shower Stiles had ever seen. It was set in an alcove, only a small portion of the circular shower area covered with a high clear glass wall and a clear glass door. Stiles could clearly see the inside of the shower, and yep, definitely the _best_ shower sex: water pouring out from nine – no, ten – shower heads – three-columns with three-rows of shower heads installed on the wall and one huge-ass shower head on top. Damn, if he had this shower back at home, he could probably reduce his showering time drastically –from a good 10 minutes to a solid 30 seconds.

 

“This is freaking awesome.”

 

Not a second later, there was a loud sound of little feet running down the stairs, followed by a muffled, ‘wait for me!’ _Isaac_ , Stiles thought. He resolutely ignored the mind-blowing, orgasm-inducing shower and turned to the sink, folding himself to reach the drawer underneath. True to Erica’s words, there were spare toothbrushes, along with a few of the kids’ ones. Stiles quickly made a grab for one of the adult’s and made a quick work of brushing his teeth.    

 

 When he got down to the kitchen, he was greeted with a quite enthusiastic chorus of ‘morning!’. Boyd was still helping Erica up onto stool and Isaac was already sitting and spinning in his own stool – of course, it’s not a normal stool, it has to be those spinning ones. Stiles mindlessly helped Erica up – “I can do it, Stiles!” Boyd exclaimed – making his way slowly to the fridge and opening the doors.

 

It was one of those huge, metallic, two-door fridges; taller than Stiles and definitely much wider than him – but if there’s anything amazing about the fridge it’s probably the sheer amount of food in there. Every single slot and drawer filled with something; some pre-cooked meal, bottles and bottles of sodas and 2 cartons of Capri Sun. “Um,” Stiles turned around to see three sets of hopeful puppy eyes. “What do you guys want to eat?”

 

Of course, that earned Stiles a shouting match of who wants to eat what, which then evolved into a shouting match of who gets to choose, and _why is it always Boyd, I want to choose too!_ Stiles kept on looking at the kids with an amused look, barely wanting to interrupt this rather important ‘discussion’ when somehow the three of them quieted themselves, turning to look at Stiles with expectant eyes.

 

“What?” Stiles asked.

 

“We’ve made up our mind,” Boyd said with a very satisfied smile.

 

 

*

 

 

“Why are you putting milk in it?” Isaac asked.

 

Stiles continued slowly adding the cold milk into his eggs mix, dumping it in without really measuring it. Once he was sure he got enough milk in, he straightened the carton and screwed the top back on. “The milk,” Stiles said as he motioned for Boyd to pack the carton back in the fridge, “is so that the egg stays fluffy. Like your head.” Isaac giggled when Stiles ruffled his hair, offering Stiles his handy hand to help whisk the eggs as he dumped in a few seasonings.

 

Stiles had already prepared the bacon with Erica’s help and Boyd had cut those crispy strips into really small pieces (“But Stiles, this is too small. Why can’t we just have bacon strips?” “Because I’m not making bacon strips – oh come on. Fine – I’ll cook some more bacon okay? Stop making that face, Boyd.”) for his scrambled eggs, and now all he needed were the veggies – because there’s no other way to trick kids into eating vegetables than a really good Denver eggs with bacon strips and toast, right? _Right,_ ‘cause that always works.

 

Excellent.

 

He was just about done fishing all the vegetables from the fridge – onions, some bell peppers, a carrot because why not – when he heard Erica shrieking (happily, if that’s a thing) from where she was watching TV in the living room. Isaac was already scrambling to get off the stool. Stiles dropped his load on the island and helped Isaac down, just in time to hear Erica calling for Allison, which…

 

_Allison?_

 

As if summoned by Stiles’ thought, Allison emerged with Erica sitting on top of her shoulders, her hands reaching for the low kitchen ceiling as she squealed (definitely happily) when Allison dipped her body low randomly. “Allison?” Stiles said, because really, there’s no reason for her to be here, at least not now. Thankfully, Isaac solved the puzzle for Stiles when he ran towards the door, arms flailing about as he called for Scott. Oh, right – _Scott_ ; the man who created all this not-mess in the first place.

 

“Hey, Stiles,” Allison said, as she lifted a whining Erica off her shoulders.

 

Somewhere behind her came a really deep groan and Scott’s head popped up beside Allison’s, his chin resting on the girl’s bared shoulder. “Dude, are you cooking breakfast?” Stiles narrowed his eyes, because seriously? Scott, god blesses his soul, smiled shyly, rubbing the back of his neck in an awkward gesture. Stiles was just about to ask them what had brought them here, when Allison patted Scott’s cheek and pushed his face off her shoulder.

 

“Why don’t you go kill some brain cells with TV?” She asked with a sweet smile, even if Stiles could easily pick up the heavily implied ‘ _I insist_ ’ in her tone. Scott, God bless his heart, simply smiled at his girl, kissing the side of her lips once before calling the ‘little minions’ to join him for morning cartoons. Stiles’ eyes followed the reluctant way Boyd was dragging his feet, and he certainly didn’t miss it when Scott’s head popped around the kitchen door and he mouthed a silent, ‘ _I’m sorry!_ ’

 

Allison, obviously, didn’t see that one, as she was busy eyeing Stiles’ breakfast making skills. “What are you cooking?” she said, although Stiles was pretty sure the answer to that question wasn’t really as important as the answer to, “What are you doing here?” Allison stared at him when the words left his mouth, and just like that, the pretty (fake) smile that Allison was wearing crumbled down, replaced with a worried pout and even worst sad-puppy eyes. Oh, no.

 

“Oh, no – God, what happened.”

 

“Stiles, first off, I am really sorry and–”

 

“Oh God, are you _marrying_ Scott?!”

 

“What?” Even if Allison didn’t say anything, her shocked face really did – so, no to wedding.

 

 _Wait_. “You’re _not_ going to marry Scott?” Stiles asked, because man, this is an important question – they’re like the ‘It’ couple. Everyone knows better than to hit on either Scott or Allison, _male or female_.

 

“Stiles, I’m 18. When I’m marrying Scott, I want to be able to drink alcohol to that freakin’ awesome best man speech of yours, okay?” Allison replied, and yeah, Stiles kinda get that – his speech (version 3.4.1) is the best speech _to date_.

 

“So, what’s the problem?”

 

That got Allison to sigh, her body slumping as she dropped on the stool on the other side of the island, her head perched on her palms. “Dad,” Allison said, her voice every inch of a dejected daughter, “he threatened to _emasculate_ –”

 

“What!”

 

“–Scott if he’s not at the camp site with me and I really need you to help me because I like Scott with his dick and balls attached, Stiles,” Allison said, her eyes wide as if she’s trying to telepathically convey just how important Scott’s dick and balls are to her; which, _ew_. No.

 

Stiles sighed, making quick work of the greens – well, red in the case of the bell pepper, but still. Allison’s eyes were relentless, boring at Stiles’ head like she was a Bad Terminator and Stiles as her John Connor – Stiles ignored her some more in favor of dialing the heat up for the pan that he used earlier for the bacon, some of the bacon fat still sticking to the pan. Stiles dumped the contents of his chopping board into the still hot pan. “Okay,” Stiles said, as he reached for the little bowl filled with the cut bacon – courtesy of Boyd, of course – and throwing those in together with the vegetables, “so, what’s the whole story?” When Allison raised her eyebrows in a silent question, Stiles stared hard at her – she knows better than to keep important information from a Sheriff’s son.

 

“Come on, Allison – I know I’m missing half the picture here. So spill,” Stiles said, spilling the egg from the glass bowl into the sizzling pan – talk about great timing.

 

“Um – so the camping trip right…”

 

“Uh – huh.”

 

“Well, it’s. Um, it’s – we’re moving today.” Stiles’ eyes went wide as he stared up at her. “At 12.” Stiles almost gave himself a self-inflicted backhand in his hurry to look at his wristwatch. 10:35AM.

 

“Allison, that’s like in an hour, what the hell?!”

 

The girl in question circled the marble island, moving towards Stiles. “Okay listen, I’ll explain everything but just – just keep an eye on the eggs, okay?” Which, huh? Allison then proceeded to physically angle Stiles’ head towards the bubbling eggs – which, first of all, rude; but okay; the eggs are almost done on the edges. Stiles grumpily scrapped the almost cooked eggs on the edge in towards the center whilst waiting for Allison’s explanation.

 

Allison casually leaned back on the island, crossing her arms as she took in a deep breath. “Okay, so I want to call in a favor – hear me out first. I know this is going to make me sounds douche-y and maybe a bit whiny, but there are people in that camp site that I’d rather cut my fingers off than be in the same place as them, okay?”

 

And sure, Stiles understood that: people think Stiles is a lot for his father to handle, wait till they see the rest of the Stilinski clan – Dad and Grandpa are like the most normal people in the whole family tree, with Stiles a _very_ close second.

 

Still, Stiles nodded understandingly and Allison breathed out a sigh of relief. “So, having Scott with me is essential for my whole physical, mental and social wellbeing – even my dad approves of that.” And again, Stiles could also see the validity in that point – without Scott by his side, in a really hostile and boring environment, would be even worse than playing games for 72 hours straight without any sleep.

 

( _Dad_ – see, there’s worse way to die than not sleeping, old man.)

 

The smile on Allison’s face grew easier and wider with every nod from Stiles, and soon, she was buzzing from her own excitement. “And here’s the best part – you get to look after the kids.”

 

And, _no_.

 

“ _How_ is that the best part exactly?” Stiles asked. Allison’s smile didn’t drop – in fact; it turned a shade evil, if that was possible.

 

“He didn’t tell you?” Allison asked, though the tone was more of a statement instead. Stiles was about to open his mouth and say…something – anything, really – when she squeaked – the way that she did when something really amusing and surprising happened that was, in all form and way, in her favor. Which probably means Stiles won’t get out of this, probably not with that last squeaky nail being hammered solid into his metaphorical casket. “Stiles, do you know how much Scott gets paid to look after these kids? A day?”

 

Stiles removed the almost done scrambled eggs from the heat, and made a grab for the shredded mozzarella and parmesan that he found in the fridge earlier. Stiles pondered for a little while on that question, because truth be told, he couldn’t recall ever hearing anything about this babysitting gig – Stiles was the one who did random babysitting jobs; Scott had his Dr Deaton’s helper gig going on, strong and steady. At Stiles’ look of confusion, Allison, that sly lady, rested her chin on Stiles’ shoulder, much like how Scott had earlier, and told Stiles in what he hoped was not her bedroom voice, “He’s cashing in five – _hundred_ – a night, Stiles.”

 

Stiles was pretty sure he almost got a money-boner at that, because wow. Wow. Beside him, Allison was chuckling softly, her breath tickling Stiles’ ear and yeah, still not over that.

 

Which was fortunate because then Boyd was shouting something about Allison cheating on Scott and it was all chaos, but really – 500 bucks. For fuck sake.

 

 

*

 

 

Those ungrateful yet helpful people (read: Scott and Allison) stayed for breakfast with them (read: Stiles and the gang, because they are so a gang right now) – lucky for Stiles, he actually foresaw the Last Meal and totally called the ample amount of food needed for the feast.

 

Which is exactly what it is because holy God, these kids are beyond wild – three minutes in, Erica managed to drown Stiles in orange juice; Isaac’s messy curls became Isaac’s messy and edible curls because for some reason, there were bits of egg and bacon and even more bits of vegetables stuck in his hair (sneaky bastard); and Boyd certainly didn’t need to pour that much of ketchup on _the freaking floor_.

Stiles was floored when Allison suddenly produced his backpack filled with clean clothes (debatable) and his MacBook, and just – he’s seriously considering marrying this girl if Scott was ever going to get his dick chopped off. (In hindsight, Stiles should’ve totally called out the well-planned out…plan and the whole invasion of privacy she-bang, but he’s not going to whine his way out of one grand. Nope, keep on dreamin’; Scotty boy).

 

Scott was no better at figuring out how these kids were going to react to a healthy pile of breakfast food because it was his first time babysitting Mr. Hale’s kids for three whole days straight. Allison was worse – Erica somehow managed to fling a whole piece of bacon, from where she was sitting on the end of the island, all to way to the top of Stiles’ nose and Allison had high-fived the girl because apparently that’s a positive reinforcement. (Bull shit).

 

Thank God Scott and Allison actually offered to help clean up the mess and practically manhandled Stiles into having a shower and changing his soiled cloth. Stiles was whole-heartedly tempted to go to Mr. Hale’s bathroom and use that dream-material shower of his, but he’s not really that stupid – he’s not going to spend a minute longer in his soggy _and_ citrusy clothes – and trudged into the much nearer guest toilet downstairs. It was considerably smaller than any of the other bathrooms – it’s more of a toilet with a shower and curtain installed inside as an afterthought – but it worked and soon Stiles was clean and in a considerably clean shirt and even cleaner jeans.

 

(If he ever washed those jeans, that is – he’s pretty sure he never once washed those jeans.)

 

(Shut up, he’s still hygienic – you’re just not supposed to frequently wash your jeans - you're ruining the material or something with frequent wash, okay people?)

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, official schedule - updates every Tuesday, because you know, I want to watch Teen Wolf, so there's that I guess. (Yes, I don't have Moonday here because America decided to be 12 hours behind me, I mean, _come on_...)
> 
> Another thing: anybody wants to join my pack and be my beta? (Yes, that's my official beta...request?) Right at the moment it's a two-man show, my pack - with only me and Ms. Hale - and you know what they say about packs, right? 
> 
> The more the merrier - I mean, the powerful. Or soemthing, whatever.
> 
> As always, [I'm on tumblr](http://stopdropandhowl.tumblr.com/). As so my lovely beta, [Ms. Hale](http://lydiahastings.tumblr.com/).
> 
> You can follow me and we can talk about stuff. Oh yeah, I mean you can also go follow Emilie.


	3. Saturday Noon: Lunch Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who says that Barbie's games are boring?
> 
> Well, they might not be as eventful as a ride on a mechanical bull or a seat on the Sheriff's lap, but hey, it's alright. 
> 
> (Or maybe not - Just Dance is way better than Barbie, just saying)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, beta'd by the lovely Ms. Hale aka my soulmate. You can find her at lydiahastings.tumblr.com and you can find me at stopdropandhowl.tumblr.com

 

 

It’s finally 12.

 

It’s finally freaking 12 and it’s officially noon. Like, this is probably prime time for the Sun to be perpendicular to the Earth’s surface at any given point. This is also probably the best time to start torturing people – like you know, maybe torture some sexual offenders; or some really disgusting pigs who condone sexist behavior; or an abusive husband who abuses his power to control his family; or–

 

“I’m boooooored!”

 

Or children who speak the truth when the truth should not be spoken because _fuck_.

 

Stiles curled his body up from where he was lying still on the floor in the middle of the living room, angling his head to where Boyd was hanging onto the couch. Yes, Boyd was really _hanging_ onto the couch – he got most of his body off the couch and plastered it to the front side of the couch, and the only thing that was even remotely _on_ the couch was his right hand and right leg and yet somehow he’s still on the couch.

 

Or you know, hanging _onto_ it – whatever, semantic _schmantic_.

 

Erica and Isaac was probably no better than Boyd – Isaac was lying stomach down on top of Erica’s legs, his face flat on the carpeted floor with his limbs as dead as limbs could get. Erica had her thighs squished down by Isaac’s weight as she stared up at the ceiling with a sort of dead look in her eyes. Stiles tried nudging her feet – just to make sure that she was actually alive and not, like, _paralyzed_ or something – Stiles let out a breath of relief when Erica gave him the Eye of the Devil (it was that scary, especially coming from a 6 years old). Stiles plopped back down, crossing his hands behind his head like a pillow and contemplated his life.

 

Scott and Allison had left a good 20 minutes ago – Scott promising Stiles that he’ll make sure that Mr. Hale paid Stiles the money that he deserved (though not elaborating on how he was going to do it, but whatever) and promising the kids that he’ll bring them some sort of souvenir from the campsite (Allison’s face told Stiles that they’re going to need to make a stop somewhere on the way back, because of reasons – _souvenir_ reasons). Allison had all but pinched all three set of cheeks and kissed every one of them – just like that lovely aunt that you truly love but also hate for all the times that they put their smart fingers and lips anywhere near your face – and had jokingly thrown herself onto Stiles, practically demanding (out loud) a goodbye kiss from Stiles.

 

There were laughter, threats and then even more laughter, and yet too soon, the two of them were out and on their way to the Argents’ Annual Camp Terror.

 

And ever since then, the four of them – Stiles included, of course – had lain down on the carpeted floor of the living room, TV off, and had done absolutely nothing. Is this how his life as a graduated high school student was going to be like? Lying around doing nothing and getting paid 500 bucks for it?

 

Well, now that he said it…it sounds a bit cool, to be honest.

 

Okay, _freaking awesome_ , but still…

 

“I’m bored too,” Stiles said to the room at large, Isaac groaning at Stiles’ admission. There was a groan from the couch area that answered Stiles’ statement, accompanied by the sound of a hand being dragged over plastic before a soft _thump_ echoing in the quiet room. “Ouch,” said Boyd.

 

Okay, that was it. “This is pathetic,” Stiles said, pushing himself off the floor and up onto his feet, wobbling a little bit as blood started to properly flow down to the tips of his toes, warming up the muscles in his legs. “We need to do something.”

 

Isaac lifted his head up from where it was smashed on the carpet, a really heavy sigh escaping his mouth as he rubbed his tired little eyes with his hands. “There’s nothing to do,” Isaac whined. Erica patted her brother’s head sympathetically.

 

Seriously, this is _really_ pathetic. “Come on, guys – there’s got to be something, right?” Stiles asked, finally realizing the unhealthy way Boyd was sprawled on the floor – it was like the kid’s trying to imitate a puppet whose strings were cut loose. Stiles walked over and flipped Boyd so that he was on his back, rearranging his arms and limbs into a more comfortable position. “Thanks,” Boyd whispered to him, a really soft smile on his face. Stiles sighed, hopping over to the couch as he stared at the blank TV. “What do you guys do when your Papa’s home? I mean, you have to have things that you guys like to do, right?”

 

Erica grunted from where she was still petting Isaac’s head (these kids are freaking mature, seriously) as her head moved in what Stiles would assume was a nod. “We usually go out and play Frisbee – but one time, Boyd cried after he got hit with the one that Papa was throwing and then we stopped.” Stiles snorted at that and it evolved into a soft chuckle at Boyd’s indignant reply, “I did not! Plus we only went for Frisbee once; we usually played games on Saturdays.”

 

“Games?” That certainly got Stiles’ attention, alright. “What sort of games?”

 

“Lots of games,” came the reply from Isaac, who flipped and practically dumped his whole weight on Erica’s stomach, the small ‘ _oof!_ ’ from Erica was as loud and clear as Isaac’s voice. “We play Super Mario Kart and we play yoga and Barbie–”

 

_Woah, hold up – Barbie?_

 

“We don’t _play_ yoga, stupid. We _do_ yoga,” Erica said in a haughty tone. Which, Stiles doesn’t even care because seriously, _Barbie_?

 

“Now, where can I find this Barbie game, exactly?” Stiles asked in earnest because how had he not known about this game and _oh my God_ , the image of their Papa playing this game was so _precious_. Isaac and Erica both waved a hand towards the huge table underneath the humongous TV. Stiles unfolded himself from where he was sitting on the couch and paced towards the table: it was more like a really expensive, really artsy box than a table, now that Stiles was truly seeing it for the first time – there was no handle and the design carved into the wood was just amazing. He was about to ask them where exactly they were pointing at when Isaac’s hand pushed the top off – definitely a glorified version of a box then – and…

 

“ _Woah_.”

 

There was not just one console in there, but almost all the consoles that even mattered – PS1, 2, and 3; Wii; Xbox 360; and a freaking Nintendo 64 (fucking _classic_ , man). Each console was wrapped with wires from the adapters and each controller was stored in a zip-lock bag, which was fucking neat because talk about gaming responsibly and shit. “This is awesome,” Stiles gasped, just in case the whole room didn’t already have a single clue about how he was feeling. Isaac giggled beside him and started to pull out the Wii and the remotes (also in a bag), before he closed the lid and set the Wii up on top of it.

 

Everyone helped with the setting up – Stiles with the power cord and the cables; Isaac with getting the remotes out of the bag; Erica with flinging games at Stiles’ body (which a) rude, but also b) awesome because _so many games_ ); and Boyd with the gaming area cleanup as he cleared the floor of any random inanimate objects for a proper gaming experience – go team!

 

Soon, everyone was standing up with remotes in each of their hands and the game disc locked and loaded. This was going to be _awesome_.

 

 

*

 

 

Turns out that Barbie was kind of boring – like, _seriously_ boring.

 

Stiles was pretty sure the Barbie company had like absolutely no idea about the vast amount of opportunities they once had in their hands, only if they had just fucking stopped thinking like typical 6 year old girls and started thinking like an actual bunch of adult game makers. Seriously – just how many versions of dress-me up did Barbie actually need, apart from its real-life mannequin counterpart? Like the fact that a single Barbie character can have up to more than 500 dresses is probably clue enough for the creator to fucking stop it already with all these dress-up games – they should definitely venture into some kind of action-adventure  RPG or something. (The fact that only Stiles and Boyd enjoyed playing the first half an hour is…nothing. Seriously, it’s nothing.) Of course that was when Stiles actually thought about looking through the stack of CDs that Erica had somehow managed to pile near the box and he saw the cover for Just Dance: Disney Party.

 

“Go, Stiles! Dance, dance, dance!” Isaac cheered, pumping his little hands in the air from where he was splayed on the couch, watching as Stiles danced next to Boyd to the song Hoedown Throwdown. To be honest, Boyd was good, but evidently – as proved by the previous 4 songs that Stiles had danced to – Stiles was _better_. Stiles had seriously never known about this Disney Party thing – which was ridiculous, because this thing is awesome! How come Danny didn’t have this game? – and he was definitely trying to make up for lost time, moving his feet and arms as instructed while singing along the on-screen lyrics.

 

Stiles was well into his 5th star when he heard Glenn Frey’s The Heat Is On playing (Dad, for reasons – Beverly Hills Cop reasons) and well, Stiles ain’t going to stop dancing even if he had to take the call, so he used what ways he could. “Isaac,” he said, eyes barely moving away from the screen, because _points_ , “grab my phone!” Stiles was pretty sure there was a sigh coming from the couch, but he can’t be too sure since he was so focused on the game, but he did hear the enthusiastic hello from Isaac.

 

“Hi, Sheriff!”

 

What now?

 

“Stiles’ dancing.”

 

Okay, seriously, he needs to stop dancing – now. “Erica,” Stiles called, “you gotta dance this one, baby girl.”

 

Erica’s reply was to simply throw her juice pack (where did that come from?) haphazardly and jump from where she was lounging on the pile of cushions on the floor, with an enthusiastic battle cry of, “You’re going down!” Seriously, these guys.

 

When Stiles turned around and swapped places with Erica, he saw that Isaac was lying on his back on the couch with the phone on his hand. “Oh no, he’s playing Just Dance,” Isaac managed to get out before Stiles grabbed the phone away from his tiny little hand, earning him an indignant ‘hey!’.

 

“It’s Just Dance: _Disney Party_ , mind you. It’s awesome,” Stiles said to the receiver in lieu of hello. He heard a shuffle of papers from the other side and a soft chuckle that his father loves to do when Stiles somehow managed to remind him of the 10 year old Stiles. _Ah, fond memories_. “What’s up, mi padre?”

 

  A cheer erupted from Isaac out of the blue, and when Stiles redirected his attention to the screen, he saw that Erica just finished his battle of beating Boyd to Hoedown Throwdown and Stiles too cheered for Erica. The little girl bowed to her ‘audience’, and she even slapped Boyd’s back in a show of camaraderie – such good sportsmanship.

 

Heh, _not_.

 

“Stiles, are you listening to me?”

 

“Sorry Dad, Erica just beat up Boyd’s ass – it needed a positive reinforcement. You were saying?”

 

“Beat up…I’m just going on a whim that it’s a game because I sure do hope it is just a game, you hear son?” Stiles squawked at that, because what? Did his father just suggest that Stiles was encouraging abusive and violent behaviors? That’s bullshit. “I was saying,” the Sheriff continued, not knowing Stiles’ judging thought of his own father, “that I need my food delivered to me by my son – preferably the one that is not working as the delivery guy for some healthy food diner. Is that possible, _son_?”

 

Stiles scoffed, because that was an A+ plan right there – one that he had used maybe 3 times too many, but it’s still an excellent plan nonetheless. “Dad, please. Since when is your son so unqualified to be a delivery guy? I mean, have you seen that Jeep? It’s awesome.”

 

A snort came from the receiver and before Stiles even had the chance to rebuff, his dad cut in. “Yeah, sure – the one that I still pay the gas for. Just bring in my lunch ‘kay, kiddo? And bring me something filling, not just grass and tomato cherries – I mean, what’s wrong with the big tomato?” When Stiles was about to tell him that there’s no way people are going to put a huge ass tomato into a salad and still manage to make it looks nice like it did with a bunch of cute tomato cherries when his dad cut in, again. “Oh, and bring those kids with you, I want to see them. ‘Kay, bye kid. Remember; filling food, not grass.” And with those passing words, his dad ended the call.

 

Stiles pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at the screen for a few seconds, the picture of his Dad (with him) on the screen with the call option buttons on them before the whole screen morphed back into the lock screen. Stiles looked up and saw three sets of eyes looking at him, and he decided, _oh well_. It’s not like he was going to leave  the kids to fend for themselves, anyway.

 

“So, pasta or burgers?”

 

 

*

 

 

Stiles spent a good 10 minutes waiting for the freaking princes and princess to get ready for their ‘lunch date’ – Isaac’s words, not his. As it is, Boyd had supported both Erica and Isaac’s demand of them not needing any car seats and how they are old enough to handle a ride in an old blue Jeep. Stiles, of course, was somewhat grateful knowing that he hadn’t needed to go on a searching spree for their ‘well-hidden’ car seats that ‘Papa said weren’t stored in the garage’.

 

Really, these kids need to learn how to lie, for real.

 

Well, that was probably 20 minutes ago – when Stiles had first driven from Beacon Hills to the Hales’ residence two towns over it took him about 25 minutes on ‘reasonable speed’ – and now things are…a bit interesting.

 

_“Are we there yet?”_

_“No!”_

_“Are we there yet?”_

_“NO!”_

_“Are we there~~ yet?!”_

_“No, no, no!”_

 

And a lot annoying.

 

Stiles sighed as he eyed the two blonde kids on his backseat through his rearview mirror, safety belt on and yet still managing to dance around in their seat while singing some off-key, original song of theirs. “Isaac, Erica – can you please stop singing already?” The two voices just kept on rising without a hitch, Stiles knew his thoughts were absolutely not wanted in these matters.

 

Beside him, Boyd patted his right shoulder, a look of utter understanding on his face. “It’s okay,” Boyd said, as he craned his neck to eye at his two siblings on the backseat too. “It’s usually worse when we’re driving with Aunt Laura and Cora – because then they’ll be singing it with Isaac and then everybody has to sing along. Even Papa.” Stiles almost laughed – emphasize on the almost – at the thought of Mr. Hale singing a ~~stupid~~ silly song like this, but knowing that the man actually roared to a phone in the name of wake-up call – yeah, it’s not that hard to imagine him singing along to Isaac.

 

Boyd, god bless his soul, wasn’t singing along to the song – although Stiles didn’t miss the soft humming he did, nor the way he mouthed the ‘no!’ silently as the song goes – but instead was somehow very interested in the Jeep. Particularly, about how old the Jeep was (“Old, Boyd – really, _really_ old.”) and why there’s no radio on his ‘flat’ dashboard (“Remember when I said ‘old’? Yeah, there’s no radio back then.”).

 

Of course, the singing happened exactly after the latter question was answered – Isaac even introduced the song to the car’s occupants before he started singing – which, _yay_ , so much fun.

 

 _Not_.

 

 

*

 

 

When Stiles finally reached Beacon Hills, he drove straight to Sally’s Diner near the town’s exit. Sally, the owner and the head cook of the diner, was probably one of the only cooks in the whole of Beacon Hills that actually understood Stiles’ need to have his food carefully crafted as to have not too many salts and lesser oils and also leaner meat, on the account that her husband Carl died of a heart attack. She always said that had she’d known her husband was suffering from those blocked arteries, she’d do her damned best to provide him with better food – but given the circumstances, she figured she could at least help other people by providing better food choices.

 

And that was a belief Stiles could get behind. Not to mention that she was a damn good cook – her food was something of legend. So really, at the moment, getting a full lunch meal – with cut fruits as dessert too – seemed like a really good idea, until Isaac saw Menacing Beast, the mechanical bull.

 

“ _Ohmygod_ Stiles Stiles _Stiles is that a robot?_ CAN I RIDE THE ROBOT PLEASE PLEASEPLEASE _PLEASE_?!”

 

The old couple by the door was smiling at the scene – Isaac tugging the hell out of Stiles’ favorite sweater – while the only other occupant of the diner, some random small family, was glaring the Death Glare™ at Stiles, practically ignoring their little son very consistent patting on the wife’s hand with eyes that were shooting out rainbows of hopefulness. Stiles grimaced when the mother turned to her son and said a curt and final ‘no’, the little kid quieting himself with a resigned face aimed at the small plate of pancake in front of him.

 

“Well, if you think you can handle the Beast, you can ride ‘em, honey.”

 

Stiles smiled at Rita, practically Sally’s only waitress, when the lady winked at him. Isaac had stopped tugging at his sweater (thank god) and basically gulped at the name. “The Beast?” Isaac said; his blue eyes wide as he stared at the still machine. Both Erica and Boyd instantly flanked Isaac, Boyd’s hand winding around his brother’s shoulders as Erica gripped Isaac’s smaller hand in hers.

 

“Uh huh, the _Menacing_ Beast. You can ask Stiles about the first time that he got on the Beast – he was so scared he threw up all over the floor before he even got on the ride. Man, this guy right here sure can puke – there were stains left even after I bleached the whole floor.”

 

Stiles rolled his eyes at Rita, barely containing his desire to tell her that he was 7; Rita and Sally had been using that same ol’ story every time a kid tried to ride on the bull – Stiles was pretty sure it was because they were both too lazy to operate it – since it was Carl’s crazy idea to add a mechanical bull as a ‘decoration’ in the first place, or so Sally said – but who knows with these two ladies. When Stiles looked down he saw three sets of wide, hopeful eyes staring back at him, and he scoffed at the three of them. “What, you guys want a reenactment or something?”

 

Sadly, Stiles had yet to learn the concept of not asking a child if they wanted something that they clearly wanted. Erica fisted her free hand and pumped it in the air, shouting the word ‘puke’ like a battle cry; Isaac was nodding his head so hard that his curls were bouncing off each other; while Boyd had this calculating look on his face as he eyed the ceiling, as if wanting to test just how high Stiles can puke. Stiles gaped at the kids, grabbing his chest in a faux devastation. “Such manners,” Stiles spat out, smirking to himself when Rita barked out a surprised laugh.

 

“Here for lunch, kiddo?” Rita asked after she told the kids to go crazy on the Menacing Beast but to ‘ _not_ touch any of the buttons, or I will eat you’ – Isaac had all but flung himself into the riding area, with a very excited Erica and an even more excited Boyd following sedately behind him.

 

“Yeah,” Stiles said, looking at the few baked goods on display – Stiles practically drooled at the red velvet cheesecake because it was _de_ licious – waving a little at Sally when the older lady emerged from the kitchen. Rita patted his arm as she nodded towards the Hales. “I can keep an eye on those cute kids for you,” Rita offered. Stiles was about to say that she didn’t have to – she probably had something else to do, this is her workplace – when Sally butted in.

 

“Don’t worry, kiddo. Rita has like, what, 12 kids–”

 

“ _Six_ , Sally.”

 

“–she can handle 3 for sure. Give ‘em a ride, Rita – any children of the Sheriff always gets a free ride on the Beast: rulebook said so,” Sally finished with a wink. Stiles laughed at that, mouthing a silent ‘thank you’ at Rita as she went over to the riding area, laughing along when she saw the ridiculous way Boyd was trying to push Isaac up onto the saddle.

 

Stiles chatted a bit with Sally, asking her about her son and their dogs and cats. He rattled out Dad’s usual order along with his, and when asked about the kids’ orders, Stiles asked Sally to surprise him. Sally, the ever generous person, simply pinched his cheek and told him to stop being so cheeky and made her way into the kitchen. Stiles sat at the bar, contemplating whether or not he should pack a slice of that red velvet cheesecakes to take with him – seriously, best thing ever – when he heard the familiar whirring of the Menacing Beast and Boyd’s loud voice whopping.

 

Stiles slowly made his way to the riding area, smiling at Boyd’s happy face as he whipped the oversized cowboy hat in his hand back and forth like the undying cliché that it was. Isaac was staring at the other boy, his jaws so wide open that it was practically on the floor, his hands grasping the metal fence so tightly his knuckles were white. Stiles then saw that Erica was pointing a phone at the bull, her hands so high up over her head holding the phone – the same phone that was roaring and playing the awkwardly private wake-up calls. Stiles saw that she was recording the whole thing, her eyes focused on the odd angle of the phone and not really seeing the screen, so he took pity on her and offered to take the video for her, much to her delight.

 

The bull ride was slow – really slow – but still there was enough speed and motion to jerk a child riding it around. One by one, they took a turn to ride; all of them being reminded again by Rita on how to properly hold the rein to avoid falling and then being forced to either wear or hold the cowboy hat. Rita was clearly enjoying it, seeing as she too was taking photos of them, actually whooping when Isaac fell off the ride and landed on his butt at the get go. Isaac whined about how that didn’t count, and Erica counter-whined with how it was technically her turn now, so Stiles – with Rita’s approval – told them that they each were going to get another round.

 

Of course, he could do without getting tackled to the ground by both Erica and Boyd – in gratitude, obviously – but it was worth it. Even more so when Isaac started crying on his second ride when he didn’t fall off the bull for the whole entire ride – the 3 minutes video of him crying in joy was just priceless.

 

 

*

 

 

When they finally reached the station, Stiles told the kids to get inside and wait for him at the front desk while he parked the Jeep and locked it up. The kids were ecstatic to finally be in a police station and literally skipped their way inside. It took him quite a good few minutes to actually find a parking spot that was near enough to the station, but after a few turns and one roundabout, he managed to park a good 10 meters away from the entrance.

 

Stiles slow-jogged his way into the station, bags of take-away in his hands, swaying as he pushed the door opens. The first thing that he saw when he entered the station was Tara, one of Dad’s deputies, her face stern as she looked at Stiles with her arms crossed. Behind her were the kids, Erica and Isaac both barely containing their giggling behind covered mouths and Boyd with a very commendable nonchalant look. “Mr. Stilinski,” Tara greeted him.

 

Stiles skidded to a halt, resting his back to the glass door as it closed. “Officer,” Stiles said.

 

Tara eyed him up and down, taking in the plastic bags in his hands before gesturing to the kids behind her. “Do you know these children?” she asked, her voice cold and sharp. Stiles nodded, wondering what Erica or Boyd had told her. “Yeah – um – I’m babysitting them,” Stiles replied, playing along.

 

“Babysitting, huh? Well, Mr. Stilinski, I was told that you kidnapped these three lovely children.” From behind her, Erica had managed to stop her giggling and was sagely nodding her head along with Boyd; as Isaac continued to cover his mouth with both his hands.

 

Stiles gulped audibly, stuttering on purpose as he tried his best not to break character and just laugh his ass off. He was about to offer a (false) statement of how he actually found these kids by the road side when the Sheriff – as casually as you please – strolled into the front desk area, hands on his hips as he took in the whole scene. “What’s all this commotion?” he said, his voice and face straight.

 

This new addition was clearly unplanned; judging by the awed look both Boyd and Isaac were giving his dad. Erica was somewhat unfazed by the whole Sheriff thing, as she turned to his father and explained calmly about what had happened. “We were kidnapped by this man,” she said, pointing her lying finger at Stiles.

 

Stiles made a show of feeling hurt, clutching his heart as he gasped at Erica. “How dare you, young lady. I did not!” Stiles said, his voice going higher as he speak. Tara was barely holding on to her cop face, though the same couldn’t be said for Dad – his face was the same as the one that he had when he was doing his police work: stoic, cool and calm. Slowly, his father raised a hand towards Stiles while keeping eye contact with the little kids. “This man,” the Sheriff said, pointing towards Stiles, “kidnapped you guys?” When all of them, even Boyd, nodded at the statement, the Sheriff turned to look at Stiles, smirking as he gestured at the bags.

 

“So, what’s with all the food?” he asked the room at large.

 

“Um,” Stiles said, as every eye turned to look at him, “it’s, uh – it’s lunch!” Stiles made a happy noise as he lifted the bags higher for everyone to see. There was a second of silence before suddenly, “NO!” Isaac shouted on top of his lungs. “Liar! He bought all that stuff so that he can make us fat because he wanted to _eat_ us,” he explained, his arms flailing and cheeks reddening. Stiles and Tara both lost it, laughing at Isaac’s words, with Tara bending over to ruffle his curls – even Dad chuckled at Isaac’s statement.

 

“Okay, you know what – come, let’s get into my office so I can interrogate this man better,” Dad said as he gestured for the kids to follow him. Stiles detached himself from the door, leading the kids through the hallway straight to the familiar Sheriff’s office. Somewhere behind them, he heard his dad explaining something to Tara – most likely to be denying any unknown grandchildren, knowing Tara’s tendencies to joke about Stiles being of a marriage age.

 

When they all reached the office, everybody was busy looking around – at the table with all those random, important looking papers; at the wall, filled with framed pictures and certificates of sorts; at the worn out leather couches and the tall filling cabinet. Stiles let them have their fill of the room as he took out box after box from the bag, each with a name written on the lid with a blue marker pen. He’d just fished out the last box when the door clicked open and a chorus of ‘Sheriff!’ accompanied his Dad’s arrival. After a round of hello’s and (re)introductions, they all took their seats – the kids sitting side by side on the long leather couch, while Stiles and the Sheriff took their regular seat at the desk.

 

Lunch was a quiet business; apparently, being in the same space as a police officer – let alone the Sheriff – was enough of a reason for them to behave themselves, eating their meal then kindly handing Stiles the empty boxes to be disposed. Dad was clearly in love with the kids, especially when Isaac saddled up to his side with the juice pack that Stiles packed along for the short ride, seeking the Sheriff’s help to punch the straw in – Dad, Stiles could tell, was more than happy to help; he even let Isaac sit on his lap as he asked him about what they had done earlier today.

 

They chatted for a little bit. Well, mostly the kids talked a little bit, Stiles and his Dad having a totally different conversation over the kids’ storytelling and arguing over who’s right and who’s wrong – Stiles even had to help find the video of Isaac crying at the end of his second attempt at the Menacing Bull to help prove Boyd’s argument, much to Isaac’s displease. Whatever it was, it was pretty much determined that his dad was going to order some huge ass pizza and come by the Hale residence for dinner with the kids, and then the next morning everybody was invited to the Sunday Breakfast with Stilinski’s because by now, the Sheriff would most probably perform a seppuku over not having this bunch of kids over for breakfast. They talked some more about their usual activities with Scott (apparently that guy often took them over to Deaton’s clinic – Scott never bothered to take _Stiles_ to Deaton’s clinic, that jerkface), their favorite past time (afternoon right after their Papa was done with work and was willing to play with them till late evening), their favorite food (Chinese takeout on Wednesday, right after their evening tussle or whatever with their Papa) – things of that nature.

 

Of course, the more they talked, the more time flied and 3 o’clock went by without anybody noticing it. There was a knock on the door, silencing the whole room from its buzzing state – Isaac half shaking, half swaying his hips; trying to imitate Stiles’ (sweet) hula dance freestyle when he was dancing to Lilo & Stitch’s ‘Hawaiian Roller Coaster Ride’.

 

“Um, Sheriff Stilinski – do you have a minute?”

 

Everybody turned and saw the man, Officer Drake (well, Stiles calls him that – the man has a Drake’s face and was really talented in singing), peeking through the door. The Sheriff cleared his throat and muttered a curt ‘sure’, and just like that everybody was busy getting off chairs (Stiles and Boyd) and table (Erica) and lap (Isaac), Stiles picked up the bags with empty cartons and boxes to be thrown away. Stiles went over to the other side of the desk to quickly squeeze his dad in a short version of a hug and just like that, everybody was rushing to the Sheriff in demand of a hug too – only all of them ended their hugs with a quick peck to the Sheriff’s cheek. The Sheriff, of course, was fucking beaming with every kiss and even Drake was softly laughing at Isaac’s loud smooching noise.

 

Stiles opened the door wider, guiding the kids out of the office and into the hallway. They waved goodbye to Tara with a promise of coming back one day to visit her (“and bring me some food too, Stiles – your dad is not the only one starving, you know.”). Stiles led his little minions to the Jeep, opening the doors for them.

 

“You know,” Isaac said when Stiles helped him get into the Jeep through the passenger side, “I think I’d like to have Sheriff as my grandpa.” Stiles stilled at the confession, smiling stupidly to himself when Boyd basically pushed Stiles out of the way so that Erica could climb into the Jeep and _yeah_ …

 

(That’s definitely a good thing, right?)

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANNOUNCEMENTS: Did you enjoyed the chapter(s)? Do you have anything that you think would improve the story to the next level? Just wanna say hi? (I swear I did not stole that from WTNV, what are you talking about)
> 
> Drop by my tumblr page and send me an ask and ask me about...anything really! BUT MOST IMPORTANTLY, send me an ask with a link to your e-mail if you want to be my beta - Ms. Hale is an awesome person, she really is, but I want to have another set of eyes and a few kilos of brain matter looking at my words and then tell me where I went wrong or what I can do to improve, because we can never go broke with doing the right thing, right?
> 
> Or something to that extend.
> 
> Again, you can find me on my tumblr, and that is stopdropandhowl.tumblr.com (I'm too lazy to do the coding so no, no more links, lol)

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are loves. I'm not promising anything, but I'm envisioning a regular weekly update, so yeah. Prayer circle for my consistencies...
> 
>  
> 
> You can find me, as always, on [my tumblr](stopdropandhowl.tumblr.com). There's shit and stuff there, so yeah, come. Or don't, I won't judge.


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